


On the Side of Daffodils and Heather

by 2c31h42n2o6



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: I have no idea how long this will be, M/M, armagedidnt, happy ending of course, i've been writing this fic in my head for days, loosely based on hozier, not porn ick, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-05-07 11:56:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19208917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2c31h42n2o6/pseuds/2c31h42n2o6
Summary: Two very drunk celestial and occult beings in the aftermath of what could have been the end of the world.





	1. Chapter 1

“They won’t stay away forever you know.”

The demon squinted behind his glasses before tossing back a glass of what couldn’t decide between being whiskey or wine. Aziraphale couldn’t tell if the face Crowley made was because of the taste or the truth.

“How long do ya reckon we’ve got?” He asked blearily, setting the glass on the edge of a table so that it made Aziraphale nervous.

“I’m not sure,” tipping back the rest of his own glass he considered the situation. “But it’s probably not best for either of us to wander about alone.” He paused thoughtfully and tilted his head in a way that made Crowley nervous. “It’s not like we have to be alone anymore.”

Crowley blinked at Aziraphale. Maybe they’d both had enough for the night.

As much as he was loathe to admit it, Crowley had never seen the same necessity that Aziraphale had, the one that meant they only saw each other a handful of times every couple of decades. For two immortal beings, time tended to be more of a problem that it ought to have been. Mischief just wasn’t the same if there wasn’t an exasperated angel going through the motions of thwarting him just so they could have an early lunch.

“I never thought we had to be, to begin with,” Crowley admitted. He kicked his feet up on Aziraphale’s couch in a way he hoped was nonchalant. Definitely too much alcohol.

“Yes, well,” the angel started, not quite clearly remembering all his reasons that clouded his head in broad daylight. The sweet haze of the alcohol and dark sky outside shushed his nerves to a quiet calm.

“How much is too much wandering alone?” Crowley mused to no one in particular. Aziraphale mused back.

“I don’t know actually, I mean, I don’t do much beyond the bookshop these days.” Crowley was watching him over the rims of his glasses. Aziraphale didn’t notice. “Would it be too much of a bother? I suppose we could cycle between your flat and mine.”

Crowley’s mind stopped altogether.

He wasn’t sure he trusted his voice when he asked, “Cycle between what? Sleeping? Drinking?”

“Well yes, I suppose. I mean we could go out, see other parts of the world together, but if we’re keeping to London for the moment, it’s probably wise to keep to each other,” his eyebrows were almost as knit as his sweater. He looked at Crowley then and seemed to realize how long he’d been making a spectacle. “Right?”

Crowley’s smile was slow and unsure. It crept across his face as Aziraphale started to relax. “You’re absolutely right, angel.” Had a human been standing in the room with the both of them, they would have said Crowley purred but Aziraphale paid him no mind.

A slow smile graced Aziraphale’s face in response. “You know, with the apocalypse over, I find I’m strangely out of work for the moment.”

“What do you suppose we do about that?”

“I was thinking of going to bed actually.” The words seemed to surprise Aziraphale as much as they did Crowley but found they were strangely true. Everything was warm and comfortable and good. There had been food at the Ritz, good conversation, and now wine. Aziraphale couldn’t find it in himself to regret any of it. Of his indulgences.

“My my, not even a day later and you’re already engaging in sloth? Is it just me or has temptation gotten easier lately?” Again, one probably could’ve assumed Crowley was muttering to himself if it weren’t for his volume, which was quite loud for the small flat. He changed positions, opting to slump haphazardly across Aziraphale’s armrests in a way that he didn’t think would be pleasant in that much leather.

“Not just you. Heaven isn’t watching. Judging.” Aziraphale seemed to consider his words, his state, and Crowley all at once. He doubted very much that either of them cared to sober up. “Are you staying the night, then?”

If Crowley wished those words meant something else, he decidedly kept that to himself and nodded his response. Aziraphale nodded back and made to stand up. The floor looked farther away than it should and he sat back down.

“Kinda reminds you of being out at sea.”

“What does?”

“The floor.”

“Oh,” replied Crowley, trying to decide between offering a hand or miracle-ing himself a more luxurious blanket.

Glancing over at Aziraphale, Crowley noticed how dazed he looked. The angel was so utterly still, trying to muster some decision that kept him upright and drunk instead of upright and sober.

“Are you calling in a favor, angel?” Crowley asked more confidently than he felt. It could’ve been a whisper.

Startled back to thinking about leaving the room Aziraphale nodded, “if you don’t mind, my dear, it would be a great help.”

Crowley vaulted himself from the couch and Aziraphale would’ve been startled if his reaction time wasn’t muddied with wine. Instead, he simply laughed and accepted the offered hand.

The two of them laughed all the way to Aziraphale’s cramped bedroom. Scattered books and clothes and papers were everywhere. It was the opposite of immaculate and Crowley felt snug pressed up against Aziraphale wedged into this stifling little room. If he glanced too hard at the papers he would recognize his own handwriting from the many centuries of correspondence he’d written Aziraphale. He didn’t look too closely.

As uncoordinated as a baby deer, or perhaps just a drunken angel, Aziraphale collapsed into the bed without much thought. It was in that way that Crowley also collapsed into the bed without much thought.

“I’ll leave, just give me a minute.” The demon rumbled into the covers. He was trying to find his hand, which was located snugly between Aziraphale’s side and the mattress.

“It’s alright dear, I mean it is big enough for two.”

Crowley blinked and decidedly ignored the way the springs of the mattress stretched to accommodate them both. If more blankets and pillows appeared he gave them no notice. If the comforter doubled in size and the sheets increased in thread count he turned a blind eye.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley woke in a way that was distinctly Aziraphale’s fault. There was sunlight filtered through curtains and the soft heartbeat of his pillow that told him he wasn’t in his flat. In fact, the blankets here had more fingers than he could recall his own ever having.

Slowly, he opened his eyes to see Aziraphale wrapped around him in their wrinkled suits from yesterday. Of course, neither of them had thought to miracle proper pajamas. Not wanting to be the reason Aziraphale woke early to be extra virtuous and discontinue this obvious temptation, Crowley smiled and scooted closer.

Certainly, a good way to start the rest of their lives, he found himself thinking before going back to making this moment last as long as humanly possible.

  
It was a few hours later when Aziraphale became aware of an itch under his nose. When neither of his hands moved he opened his eyes to -

Crowley's hair was sticking up in every direction, pointedly ignoring the tickling sensation it had deemed to cause before noon. Resigned to his fate, Aziraphale pressed his lips gently to Crowley’s scalp. His curled hair was soft and light in a way Aziraphale’s never was. Always tightly wound and tightly curled. It would become a nest if he let it.

In his arms, Crowley stirred, pressed his cheek into Aziraphale’s neck, and froze. Aziraphale wasn’t exactly sure how to respond either but wasn’t nearly as bothered as Crowley was, he supposed. There was something to be said about the need to redraw their lines, what with their new side and all, but Aziraphale had hoped to avoid crossing one so early in the new arrangement. He supposed Crowley would just have to forgive him this small indulgence.

“You know my dear,” he said, muffled by the pillows and hair and blankets, “I can’t think of a single thing we have to do today.”

Very slowly, Crowley relaxed back into the mattress and Aziraphale. “I can’t tempt you into sleeping longer?” He mouthed into the skin just below Aziraphale’s chin.

Crowley’s heart did something funny when Aziraphale chuckled and turned his cheek onto the top of his head, making it easier to talk without having layers of fabric between them.

“Perhaps later tonight. I’ll admit, I don’t think I would have enjoyed that nearly as much on my own.” Aziraphale paused and Crowley’s stomach turned over like an engine that couldn’t start. “Can I tempt you to some breakfast? I was thinking that after we would have ah - a couple things to sort out.”

Surprisingly, with all this talk of getting up, Aziraphale hadn’t moved at all. Squinting in the brunt of the afternoon sun, Crowley reluctantly pulled away from the angel long enough to get a good look at him. It was strange seeing him without all that anxiety about morality and sides and the end of the world. He peaked open his eyes at the demon and smiled so softly that Crowley felt his own face betray him in smiling back. It was possible his heart stopped for a moment, but then he wasn’t paying too close of attention to himself.

Taking the look as permission to move, Aziraphale gently disentangled himself from Crowley, and the bed. If he regretted the action or missed the proximity, he said nothing, but his smile diminished with the more space he put between himself and Crowley. In fact, one could probably say that had been the most comfortable Aziraphale had been since the invention of air conditioning. Realizing there was no use dwelling, he busied himself into making pancakes and bacon. He didn't usually store much food in his flat after that one incident of getting lost in a particularly good modern author that had taken a good couple months to fully enjoy. The smell that had reeked from his fridge had been enough to dissuade him from fish for the last decade.

Meanwhile, in Aziraphale's bedroom, Crowley had spread himself as far as his limbs would allow. He stretched until he found the limits of the bed, where the mattress met the open air. If he had hoped for something more from that look, or something more from being pressed so firmly into his angel's arms, he kept quiet on the matter and only flung back the covers when he smelled bacon.

The books on Aziraphale's kitchen table took up more space than was usually preferable to eat breakfast in, but seeing that Crowley didn't complain Aziraphale supposed it was alright. It was striking in how mundane a sight he was in the afternoon, crumpled clothes and lack of glasses. He ate mechanically and without really looking at his food. It was just as well, the bacon had a bad habit of being too crunchy or too rubbery.

"So, er, Crowley. Have you any plans for the day?" He aimed to sound cheery but was a touch too loud for the flat. Crowley paid him no mind.

"Not really. What does one do the morning after the end of the world?" Crowley mused to himself. Aziraphale thought of several things most of which included rearranging his shelves downstairs, wandering around somewhere where Crowley could complain, drinking more wine, and doing exactly what they did last night. Whether Crowley was receptive to that, Aziraphale had no idea.

"You don't ah, you don't fancy going off on your own today, do you? You see, a few weeks ago," Crowley tuned the rest out. It was something about books and authors and people he's sure he was supposed to remember but never quite cared about. If Aziraphale wanted help rearranging stuff - sure. His schedule was free. No paperwork to file, no babies to deliver, no world to save. He was blissfully unburdened of things requiring his attention. He tuned back in, "that is if you don't mind. I'll pay for dinner if you like, your turn to pick."

"Drinks at my place after? I ought to make sure my plants haven't fallen below my standards," he replied, resting his chin in his hand to wait while Aziraphale finished his breakfast.

Aziraphale clasped his hands together and grinned. "Splendid, you know, I had hoped you'd say yes, I really did go overboard with the ebay this time so," again, Crowley tuned him out. Content to simply watch as Aziraphale collected their plates and set them in the sink, he stood only when the angel moved to go downstairs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Work keeps getting in the way. Definitely think fics would go faster if I didn't have to write them by myself.


	3. Chapter 3

As it turned out, when Aziraphale said overboard, he meant a few hundred books. Sandwiched between a stack of Azimov and Tolstoy, Crowley was organizing the newest items in Aziraphale's collection. The mindless task allowed his thoughts to wander and something occurred to him.

In light of their respective "trials" Aziraphale had seemed more at ease. Neither of them seemed exactly sure what to do with themselves now that miracles and temptations were no longer mandatory obligations to keep themselves at their posts. They didn't even have posts, so to speak. Aziraphale was handling him being here better than Crowley had seen him in the last two thousand years. He even seemed to want Crowley around.

Maybe now that neither of them had tasks to perform on Earth they could travel like Aziraphale had suggested last night. Maybe they could branch out their drinking sessions to incorporate the theater or cinema so they could debate the merits of the performances. Crowley could even be persuaded to read exactly one book of Aziraphale's choosing so long as he got to complain about it the entire time. Maybe they could simply live here on Earth and find a new sort of normal.

It was about as strong a temptation as Crowley could think of.

After a couple of hours of sorting, and the occasional teacup cropping up on the shelves next to him, Crowley considered his newfound freedom. Only when Aziraphale put his hand on his shoulder did he realize he'd been staring at the same hardcover copy of something old and boring for the last 20 minutes debating whether to put it in the pile he calls crotchety or the pile he calls mind-numbing.

"Ready for dinner, my dear?" Aziraphale was covered in the same light layer of dust that he was making his blond hair almost grey. He was smiling broadly and his face was a morning shade of pink.

"Right, right," he muttered, standing and brushing himself off. He cast a sideways glance at Aziraphale and asked, "you think we can still miracle things, angel? Or do ya think we've been cut off?" He only asked because he was trying to decide between miracle-ing the dust and wrinkles out of his clothes but didn't know if Aziraphale was avoiding the same action, or prohibited from it.

His smile faded. "You know, I haven't tried yet. Not sure if it'll work." The admission was joined by a look of apprehension on Aziraphale's face before it was replaced with resignation. With a snap of his fingers, he was free of dust and Crowley noticed all the teacups vanished, presumably upstairs.

Sighing and resigning himself to the same uncertainty, Crowley snapped his fingers and found himself clean, pristine, and holding his favorite pair of sunglasses. He grinned at the angel. "Well, that answers that."

They took the Bently to a neat little Japanese restaurant that Crowley knew Aziraphale secretly loved. Aziraphale only shouted twice the whole ride there, once for a man disobeying the crosswalk signal and once for the way Crowley parked.

Inbetween placing orders and Aziraphale taking his first bite, the two made idle chatter. Crowley asked if Adam had altered anything to drastically and Aziraphale asked as to the state of the Bently. Once they were well and truly situated Crowley slumped himself into his seat and settled in. Aziraphale made a face he reserved for particularly good saki and turned to continue a conversation Crowley hadn't thought they'd been having.

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow? Or perhaps next week?" His head was tilted in that way to let Crowley know he wasn't going to admit why he was asking.

"You know, I hadn't given it much thought will all those books you had me sorting through. Is there somewhere you fancy going, Angel?" He tilted his head back to let Aziraphale know he wasn't going to drop it altogether.

"No no, not really. See, I was just thinking, well, wondering perhaps is the right word but -" Crowley cut him off.

"Yes?" Crowley wasn't annoyed per se, but he definitely wished Aziraphale would cut to the point. Watching him bluster about in public was only entertaining when Crowley caused it on purpose. Not that it was entirely unappealing to watch.

"Is your offer still on the table?" When Crowley simply blinked at him, having no idea what offer he was speaking of Aziraphale huffed and continued. "The one from the other day when I spent the night in your flat?"

Crowley smothered his heart with a smile that was softer than he thought. "Angel, that offer is always on the table."

Aziraphale turned pink around the ears and looked away. "Oh, well, yes. Thank you." He looked extraordinarily pleased with himself.

"You didn't exactly answer my question - is there somewhere, in particular, you fancy going?" Not wanting to pause and let Aziraphale interrupt him he pushed on. "You've been asking for two days now and were going on about it last night. I mean, we could go to those operas you love so much, or there's always the movies. Hell, we could simply go to Japan if you want more authenticity." Perhaps his rambling made Aziraphale nervous but it was too late for that.

"I wouldn't say no the opera," he began shyly, "but really I guess I meant that we could go anywhere. There are no temptations or blessings keeping us in London. There are no pretenses to uphold. We can simply, do as we like." It was the most open claim Aziraphale had made without being tempered by alcohol. Crowley suddenly felt too sober for this conversation.

"Now that you mention it, I think I might go for a drive tomorrow." Aziraphale's eyes were wide for a split second before he schooled his face. Crowley was on to his game now. "See some sights. Listen to some Queen. Think a bit."

"What a, what a lovely idea, my dear. I could pack us a picnic if you like! I suppose it would take a minor miracle for crepes to keep in the tin in your boot, but I also believe I have a lovely bottle of red upstairs that-" as he let the angel pester on Crowley didn't have the heart to tell him he had meant to go alone. He wondered if Aziraphale knew that.

Crowley spent the rest of the meal letting Aziraphale talk animatedly about what to pack for their picnic tomorrow, and potential operas Crowley might be able to endure and perhaps they should go visit the ducks this week. His elbow was resting on the table with his chin in his palm as he listened. He was content to simply listen, the way Aziraphale would listen when he was four bottles in and talking about dolphins. If he was thankful for his sunglasses he kept that thought out of his mind.

Eventually, Aziraphale hinted that he was ready to leave and they both piled back into the Bently. Slightly warm from the saki and the company, Crowley drove no more than 20 above the limit at any given time. If the angel in his passenger seat relaxed from the handle and hummed along to the song on the radio he didn't comment on it.

In Crowley's flat Aziraphale hung both their coats while an incredibly swanky demon went off in search of alcohol and a spray bottle.

Keeping his composure he carefully sat himself on the spacious couch in the living room. Torn between thinking and not thinking about tomorrow he watched as Crowley sauntered about his home. The austerity and sharp imposing lines made him look like a piece in a museum. Aziraphale pointedly ignored any niggling thoughts about feeling out of place.

"Thank you, my dear, this is lovely." Crowley hummed his acknowledgment and made a face that said he was probably being too honest but he couldn't find it anywhere in himself to care. He came to sit next to him on the couch, carefully maintaining a distance left over from the arrangement. Maybe it had been too high a hope for some sort of change since this morning but when he looked down at himself he realized maybe it was his stature that kept things the way they were.

Toeing off his shoes, Aziraphale tucked his legs underneath himself and leaned haphazardly into the couch, closer, but not quite touching the wide-eyed demon sitting next to him. If Aziraphale was going to admit that heaven and hell could no longer touch them when they were together, if he was going to commit to their own side, it was on him to prove it wasn't it?

Sitting comfortably, Aziraphale decided to think about his uncomfortable realizations. Each time Crowley had proclaimed his loyalty to humanity, Aziraphale had dodged it. He had avoided it and twisted words to make sure he remained on the side of the heavenly body. He cast a sidelong glance at his friend, his oldest, only and best.

The demon was leaning into the sofa with his eyes closed and sunglasses on. Aziraphale wondered if that was also his fault. That Crowley couldn't take them off even around him. Being continuously rebuffed by the one person who was supposed to be your friend, the person you chose over the apocalypse. Crowley had every right to hate him.

Hesitantly, Aziraphale reached out his hand and rested it on Crowley's arm. He drained his glass and refilled it with something stronger, hoping it would settle the hammering in his chest. Behind his glasses, Crowley's eyes shot open. He was trying to puzzle through the angel's actions. He drew a blank.

"Crowley, my dear, have I said to you yet how grateful I am to you?" Aziraphale wore a gentle grin and Crowley wondered if the saki and the wine had been a little much for the angel tonight.

"Angel, you got nothing to be grateful for. We handled the apocalypse together, if anything we both share the blame for everyone on Earth still alive and kicking." Crowley drained his own glass, but was a couple behind the angel, not feeling any rush to dim his senses.

Aziraphale readjusted himself on his legs so that he was leaning even closer and shook his head. "No, I meant that I'm grateful to be your friend." Crowley went unnaturally still. Aziraphale soldiered on. "Your best friend."

A cautious hand came to rest on Aziraphale's as Crowley readjusted himself on his sofa to press his shoulder into the angel who was radiating heat like a Nordic furnace. "You hadn't told me that, no. You also didn't have to, Angel." He said softly, feeling his own heart hammering in his corporation.

"I want to, my dear." There was a cool sort of presence to Crowley's shoulder pressed against his own. Like a cool stone in a river, grounding him against the July heat of divinity. "All the times I was too cowardly to be the friend you deserve. The one who's on your side. I won't make that mistake again." It was a promise and not one that Crowley had asked for but basked in.

Unable to think of anything to say, Crowley squeezed the hand on his arm and tipped his head back into the couch. There was a slight movement next to him and he felt a hand on his face, removing his glasses. Tipping his head to the side to see Aziraphale, Crowley realized how open the angel looked. He looked sheepish holding his shades, as though Crowley would snatch them back.

Instead, Crowley blinked at him and shifted closer, so that Aziraphale's knees weren't digging into his side.

"Better, Angel?" He asked grinning and going back to lounging with his eyes closed.

A soft thump fell onto his shoulder and Crowley forced himself to remain relaxed. If either of them had been a hint less drunk, they might have realized that both of their hearts were pumping unnecessary blood at unnecessary speeds.

"Better," he murmured back.

Miraculously, both of their glasses disappeared into the sink in the kitchen and both pretended not to notice.

"You know," Crowley rasped conversationally some time later, "if we stay on the couch we may not make it to bed, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale hummed quietly. "Are you asking me to move?"

Cursing to himself, Crowley shifted to press his head into the soft curls resting on his shoulder. "Would you prefer a miracle?"

Aziraphale chuckled and Crowley's side shook with quiet laughter. Something bright shone in his chest as Aziraphale patted his arm and said: "I'll handle this one, dear." And they found themselves in Crowley's bed.

Crowley's bedroom was a soft sort of cold and dark that made the blankets feel like a cocoon of soft warmth. The bed took up all the available space that Aziraphale couldn't see because the room itself had been persuaded to be unnaturally dark.

The change from the soft leather of the couch to the thread count of Crowley's sheets was a pleasant change, and as Aziraphale had placed them both under the covers, the warmth was increased tenfold.

"Oh, one more thing." Crowley snapped and they were both in pajamas. Aziraphale was in soft blue pajama pants with blue stripes and a matching button-down shirt while Crowley had simply miracled himself a pair from one of his drawers that were black with red accents.

"Oh! These are lovely, Crowley, thank you." He breathed into the darkened room.

Aziraphale rolled himself gently in the expanse of Crowley's bed and extended his hand until he felt Crowley's chest. With the practice of trying to find each all night and the gentleness of rewriting the arrangement, Aziraphale moved to wrap themselves together.

"Of course, Angel." Crowley let himself be arranged and the brightness in his chest was engulfed by the brightness of Aziraphale entwining himself around the demon. For the second time that week, Crowley found himself in a warm inside and out.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm absolutely crap at summaries, sorry. I've been writing this in my head at work lately and was itching to write it down. There'll be more but I'm not sure when. Ahh, we'll see what comes of this I suppose.


End file.
